


In The Blackness

by Creej



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Imprisonment, Isolation, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:55:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creej/pseuds/Creej
Summary: Peter is imprisoned but his jailer asks him just one question...
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, eventual Peter/Neal - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	In The Blackness

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a short break from my Magic!Peter story (don't worry, there's still more to come...) to post this little story that's a bit off the beaten path...

Peter sat staring into the distance, into nothing, into the blackness that had surrounded him for...he didn't know how long. Long enough to learn the space through many a stubbed toe and barked shin. If he put his back to what he'd arbitrarily decided was the back wall, the bed was on his right, two steps past the end was a toilet with a sink next to it. Next to that was a shower stall. Blank wall for a few steps then a smooth metal door, its surface interrupted by a hinged flap just under chest height and another, larger one near the floor. Rounding a corner, an expanse of wall for five steps and he came to a dresser, four drawer, which contained sweatpants, sweatshirts, T-shirts, underwear and socks. Thus was the make up of his prison.

When he'd first come to in the room, after his head cleared, he'd done what was expected of him - demanded to know where he was and who was holding him. There had been no answer until he heard a click. Then six words. Six words that formed a question:

_Are you going to tell him?_

Peter's thoughts had come to an abrupt halt at the question. Tell who what? Who was "him"? From the quality of the silence, Peter could tell he was supposed to know to whom the voice referred, that it should be obvious.

_Are you gong to tell him?_

When he asked the obvious (to him) question, the silence took on a frustrated air, followed by another click.

Since then, the question had been repeated at varying intervals, always with the expectation that he should know what he was supposed to say to this mysterious "him", the frustration in the asker's silence turning to irritation, as if he was being deliberately dense. But try as he might, he was no closer to an answer than he was when first asked.

Peter ordered his somewhat sluggish thoughts. He'd long since stopped trying to answer a question that lacked any context, that lacked any frame of reference. He knew plenty of men that he should have told something but the voice obviously had a specific one in mind...and refused to give him even the slightest hint.

He sighed and lay down, closing his eyes even though there was no need.. The habits of a lifetime were hard to break. That was how he spent the majority of his time - he slept when he was tired and woke when he...wasn't, his world reduced to a black room...and the question. At first he'd tried measuring the time by the meals he was given but soon lost count since he had no way to keep track except in his head. He'd tried escaping of course but with no hinges to remove or lock to pick, that was quickly discarded.

_Are you going to tell him?_

Peter let out a breath and ignored the question. He'd accepted that he couldn't give an acceptable answer and his thoughts drifted to what he remembered from before he'd become trapped. Elizabeth, Neal, his job, his team, Satchmo. He felt a spark of interest - and unease - when he realized those memories were fading. He remembered blue eyes but whose were they? The satisfaction of achieving a long held goal but what was it? The thrill of finding a mind as quick, as smart as his but who possessed it? Names he remembered but he was finding it more difficult to put faces to them. He remembered faces but not the names. If he still believed he'd be released, the development would worry him. As it was, he'd let go of that hope some unknown time ago.

He heard the sliding sound from the door that heralded the arrival of his meal and debated whether to even bother finding out what it was. His appetite had begun to fade along with his memory, perhaps even before then. He wasn't hungry, not really. Just a vague, hollow feeling in his stomach that indicated it had been some time since he'd last eaten. Finally, he decided it wasn't worth the effort and closed his eyes again.

Peter woke suddenly but his mind took a while to catch up. Something had changed, something indefinable and he sat up. He saw the now all too familiar blackness but he felt compelled to map the confines of his prison, vaguely remembering that he'd always trusted his gut. Fingers trailing along the wall, he made his way around the room, avoiding the contents out of reflex, belatedly startled when his fingers caught on something. A depression that hadn't been there before, as if the door had sunk slightly into the wall. He took a step back and hesitantly pushed against the metal, his heart beating in anticipation (fear) when it moved outward and he found himself paralyzed by indecision. Where he was was a known quantity, he was intimately familiar with it, it made him feel...safe. Out there was unknown, full of things he might not be able to deal with, possibly dangerous.

Without quite realizing what he was doing, he pressed against the door and it swung outward, into a space that was less dark than his prison and he cautiously stepped into it, his eyes making out vague shapes as he crept forward. A lighter patch of darkness drew him forward and he found himself at the bottom of what he remembered was a flight of stairs. Gripping the bannister, he slowly climbed until he reached the top, the floor smooth under his stocking feet. A light struck him in the face, making him squint and cover his eyes.

When he worked up the courage to lower his hand, he saw it was still dark but a dark he could see in. He was in a room filled with furniture and it took a while to put names to each piece - couch, chair, table. He shivered, feeling exposed after the confines he'd just left. Some irrational (rational) part of his mind urged him to return to that safe place and he ignored it, the curiosity he'd thought he'd lost urging him forward.

His hand closed around the doorknob, his gut now screaming that if he opened it, he might lose his mind at what was on the other side. He ignored it since he suspected he hadn't much mind to lose anymore. The thought almost made him laugh. Was he insane if he wondered if he was? He shoved the question aside and turned the knob, shivering when the air moved against him. It was cooler than his prison, which had been warm enough to sleep without a blanket or even a sheet to cover him. The stairs in front of him were different than the ones before. These were rougher, harder, the railing colder as he descended. Without consciously picking a direction, he half stumbled down the sidewalk, flinching at the slightest sound, almost cowering away from the _space_ around him. It was too big, too empty. What had possessed him to venture into it? Overwhelmed, he dropped to his hands and knees, distantly registering the sting, his mind desperately trying to come to terms with everything he saw, felt, smelled, touched and heard. It was too much and he felt himself fall, the world going away.

Chapter Two

"Burke Premier Events"

"Elizabeth Burke? This is Emma Hatterly, I'm a nurse at Manhattan Presbyterian. I was told to inform you that your husband Peter has been admitted."

Elizabeth stilled. "Are you sure it's Peter?" she asked.

"The person who rode in with him said he's your neighbor. He said he saw someone stumbling down the sidewalk and went to see if he could help. He's the one who identified him."

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth asked in a voice that shook only slightly, "How is he? Has he said where he's been?"

"He's been sedated. He reacted quite badly when exposed to any stimulus. As for his physical condition, he seems fit but his muscles have atrophied somewhat and his weight isn't what it should be."

"I'll be right there," Elizabeth said.

When she got to the hospital and located Peter's room, she found a minor commotion just inside.

"Mr. Burke, please. Come out. It's all right."

"What's going on?"

"Your husband refuses to get back into bed," an orderly said.

"Where is he?"

The orderly gestured to the room's tiny closet and Elizabeth pushed her way past him and two nurses to find Peter curled up, arms over his head, as far back as he could get, IV lines trailing from his hand. "Hon?" she asked softly, crouching down at the door. "Hon, it's me, El."

Peter stilled, peeking out through the bend of his elbow. "El?" he whispered.

Elizabeth smiled gently until she noticed the complete lack of recognition in his eyes. "You don't remember?"

"Too bright...too loud...too much..."

Elizabeth backed away slowly before she stood. "Where's his doctor?" she asked. "I'd like to speak to him."

Following a nurse to the doctor's office, she sent a quick text to Neal, knowing he'd been worried since Peter had disappeared. She didn't want to think about how long it had been. Long enough to reduce her husband to the wreck currently cowering in a hospital room closet with apparently no memory of her.

What the doctor told her she'd pretty much already figured out for herself from what she'd been told and what she'd seen - Peter had been held in what had amounted to a sensory deprivation chamber. That was why he was reacting to strongly to all but the mildest stimuli. She was told he'd be transferred to a different room, one that was less noisy, less bright. It would take weeks, if not months for his reactions to normalize...provided they did at all. As for his memory and mental state, they couldn't be certain. He could recover but it was considered a long shot.

When she returned to Peter's room, she found Neal just outside the door, looking anxiously past the orderly stationed there.

"They won't let me in," Neal said, sounding frustrated and worried.

"You have to be patient, Neal," Elizabeth said. "He's...fragile right now."

"What happened to him?"

"From what I was told, they think he was held in solitary, in what was a sensory deprivation chamber," Elizabeth said. "His reaction to stimuli is...bad." She looked past him to see Peter once more in bed, asleep, probably sedated again. "He didn't recognize me." She drew a breath. "They said he might not recover."

"Where did they find him?"

"A few doors down from my house," Elizabeth said. "That's what I was told."

"Mrs. Burke, sir, I'm sorry but you're going to have to leave," Peter's doctor said. "There's nothing you can do right now and your husband can't deal with...distractions at the present time."

Reluctantly, they left after extracting a promise from the doctor that they'd be notified if there was any change - Elizabeth back to her offices, Neal back to June's.

Neal was shaken, but like the good conman he was, hid that fact from Elizabeth, not wanting her to worry about him as well as Peter. He knew what solitary could do to a person, having experienced it himself, but to add a complete lack of stimulus to that... At least while he'd been in solitary, he could hear the guards as they made their rounds and - distantly - the other inmates in the yard. He could see his surroundings even if they were just blank walls, his bunk, the toilet and sink. What made solitary so...unnerving was the lack of human interaction. People were social animals even if one were a loner. Refusing someone that basic need was downright cruel on a human level if not a legal one. He'd only had to endure it for a couple of weeks, Peter had for months. It amazed Neal that his friend was as...intact as he was. He'd heard of other prisoners subjected to lengthy stretches in solitary trying to (and sometimes succeeding) commit suicide, causing self-harm - cutting, banging their heads against the wall, starving themselves. Physically, Peter looked all right but that quick, brilliant mind may have been lost. And if he ever found out who was responsible, he'd make sure they paid. While he, personally, wasn't violent, he still knew people who were...and they owed him favors.

Chapter Three

Neal let himself into the house in Brooklyn and was bombarded with memories of Peter. He hadn't been there since before his partner had disappeared. What brought him there was something Elizabeth had said about where Peter had been found. Not finding what he wasn't sure he was looking for, he noticed the basement door was slightly ajar and, being the curious sort, he decided to see what was down there. Never knew what one would find and what the contents would say about the owner.

Flipping on the light, he descended the stairs, stopping short at what he saw. He'd expected stacks of boxes, hangers full of old clothes, old furniture, shelves of tacky knick-knacks...not a cinderblock wall with a door that opened out.

He catalogued the details as he approached - hinges on the outside, the smooth metal, the slots - and peeked inside the room, getting his second shock in as many minutes. It was a bedroom or at least furnished like one. A very sparsely furnished bedroom. Bed, dresser and nothing else. The room also contained a sink, a toilet and a shower.

Neal backed away, not wanting to accept the evidence of his own eyes. What had happened to Peter was crystal clear...as was who was responsible. Why, he didn't know but that was hardly a major consideration at this point. He returned upstairs, determined to get the whole story from Elizabeth when she returned.

"Why'd you do it?" Neal asked when the door opened to admit Elizabeth. He was sitting on the couch, the house illuminated by a single lamp. "Why'd you do that to him?"

"Do what? Neal, what are you talking about?"

"I saw what was in the basement," Neal said. "And I'm not stupid."

Elizabeth busied herself putting away her things, avoiding eye contact. "It's not what you think," she said.

"A room designed to hold one person, a room designed to keep that person in the dark," Neal said. "Absolutely no light could get in." He paused, looking like he'd rather not make an admission. "Clever, how you were able to deliver meals without breaking the seal." He settled back. "Answer my question. Why?"

"He was being stubborn," Elizabeth said, still avoiding Neal's gaze.

"Stubborn? Being stubborn is no reason to lock someone up in solitary, to put them in sensory deprivation," Neal said, his anger bleeding through.

"He wouldn't admit how he felt about you," Elizabeth said, sounding irritated. "He needed to think about it, needed someplace with no distraction...I tried to get him to talk about it but he kept brushing me off, saying there was nothing there even though it was as plain as the nose on his face."

Neal shot up and got into her space, glaring at her. "You have _no_ idea what solitary does to a person," he said. "Especially someone with a mind like Peter's."

"I know how focused he can be," Elizabeth said. "He's strong willed..."

"And that made it _worse_ for him," Neal said. "He needed stimulation - physical and mental - and you took that away from him! A mind like that turns on itself. If he's not completely insane, it'll be a miracle." He fought the urge to shake her...or worse. "Does he know _why_?"

"Yes."

Neal stared at her a moment. "And did you get what you wanted?" he asked but didn't allow her to answer. "You _broke_ him, Elizabeth. You reduced a strong, brilliant man, a man you claim to love, a man who loved you, to little more than a vegetable. Congratulations." Turning on his heel, he left her staring after him.

Neal sat at Peter's bedside, the room quiet and dim, watching him sleep and cataloging the lines of stress that marred his face.

It had been almost two months since Peter had been found, just steps from his prison and the doctors were cautiously optimistic that he'd recover almost fully from his ordeal. Physically he was much better and fears of insanity were slowly fading but it was doubtful his mental acuity would return - he would no longer be the brilliant FBI agent who'd caught the best conman to come along in a generation. Neal was still angry - angry at what had been done to Peter and angry, almost livid at who'd done it.

"Neal..."

Neal looked toward the voice and glared. "If I could, I'd have you tossed out of here and banned," he said. "And consider yourself damned lucky I haven't told anyone. But push me, push him and I will."

"Why haven't you?" Elizabeth asked, perching on the other chair.

"Because if he's still in there, if the man who loves you is still in there, it would tear him apart knowing you could do this to him," Neal said. "I won't be the one who causes that."

"The doctors..."

"The doctors don't know for sure," Neal said. "They're hopeful that he can have a normal enough life after this. But he'll never be the man you married again. If he's lucky, he'll just have a case of PTSD and too many phobias to count." He studied her from across the bed. "Was it worth it?" he asked. "Was doing this to him worth it? Did you ever get the answer, the admission you were after?"

"I never meant..."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't," Neal said. "You also didn't _think_ , never considered what would happen to him." His attention returned to Peter when he stirred then settled. He felt Elizabeth's gaze on him but refused to let it bother him. His only concern was Peter.

"You love him, don't you?"

"He's my friend," Neal said.

"It's deeper than that," Elizabeth said.

"And what if it is?" Neal asked, meeting her eyes. "He's not mine, he never would be. I don't go after things I know I can't get. Peter's always been out of my reach. I respect him, I admire him and for more than his mind, his intelligence. I respect and admire him as a person."

The room was quiet after Neal finished speaking, save for the machines and Peter's regular breathing. Neal kept his attention on the man in the bed, ignoring the other person in the room, ignoring how her gaze rested on his hand clasped with Peter's. Finally, when the silence had stretched thin, Elizabeth asked quietly, "Are you going to tell him?"

Neither was prepared for Peter's reaction. His eyes flew open and pinned Elizabeth with a look of anger, confusion and horror. Jerking his hand from Neal's, he clamped it on Elizabeth's arm, ignoring her wince when his grip tightened painfully. "Why?" he rasped.

"Peter...Hon..."

"Why?!" Peter demanded. " _You_ did this to me! All that time and I didn't know, had no idea _why_."

"Peter, calm down, you're confused..."

"No," Peter said. "That question...all I ever heard was that question..." He pulled her closer, his voice shaking in rage as he said, "You expected me to answer a question when I had no idea what you were talking about. And you. Wouldn't. _Tell_ me!" He shoved her away and turned his back on her, subconsciously taking Neal's hand as he curled in on himself.

Neal regarded Elizabeth, feeling no sympathy for her. Peter knew and her own words had betrayed her. He had every intention of showing Peter his prison - from that outside - once he was released unless Elizabeth had the presence of mind to dismantle it before then. He felt his chances were good as long as she was kept off balance...and he was very good at that. Plus, he had friends he knew would help. Until then, he planned to be with Peter every minute he could. To protect him, even against Elizabeth if necessary.

Chapter Four

"I was here the whole time?" Peter asked as he and Neal entered that house.

"You were," Neal said. "Come on, I'll show you."

Neal knew it was still there. Elizabeth had been busy with a major client and hadn't had the time to dismantle it. He watched silently as Peter approached the open door, stopping short of entering, bewildered as he looked inside. "Why? What was the reason?" he whispered.

"She wanted you to admit that you love me," Neal said quietly from beside him.

Now that he could see the room, now that he wasn't surrounded by blackness, Peter could see the bare mattress on the bed, the somewhat battered dresser he vaguely recognized, the shower, sink and toilet. "She never said why," Peter said, his voice trembling. "Never told me what she wanted. She expected me to _know_..."

Neal saw the tremors take hold and pulled him close. "Let's get out of here," he said softly and led him back upstairs. He waited patiently as Peter began coming to terms with what he'd seen.

"I do, you know," Peter said, half to himself when Neal gave him a glass of water.

"You do what?" Neal asked, sitting beside him.

"Love you," Peter said, meeting his gaze. "I thought about it while I was in the hospital. You were always there when I had a nightmare, when I felt everything was just too much... When it seemed like I was losing my mind, you kept me sane. I realized it then."

"Gratitude..."

"Partly," Peter said. "I always considered you a friend, even when I was chasing you, even when you drove me up the wall with your rule-bending but now..."

"You remember?"

"Now I do," Peter said. "I started to lose all of it...when I was still in there. I could remember faces but no names, names but not faces. I barely remembered who _I_ was."

"And Elizabeth?"

"I don't know," Peter said, shaking his head. "I thought she loved me but to do what she did...How could she not know the risks?"

Just then, Elizabeth came in and Neal felt Peter recoil and saw her expression falter, her smile fade. "What did you expect, Elizabeth?" Neal said evenly.

"Hon, I didn't..."

"I saw it," Peter said. "There in the basement. You put my sanity as risk and for what? How'd you get me in there? Drugged? Must have been fun for you considering there's no way in hell you had someone help you. And never call me hon again." He stood, bringing Neal with him, unaware he'd taken the other man's hand. "In fact, never speak to me again. What you did was unforgivable, especially to someone you say you love."

"Let's get you some things," Neal said. "You can stay with me. I'm sure June won't mind." He directed his next statement to Elizabeth. "Especially when I tell her what really happened."

"Neal, you said..."

"I changed my mind," Neal said. "Peter's right. What you did was unforgivable and you did it for the most ridiculous reason I can think of. Such extreme measures are _never_ called for unless torture is your goal. Because that's what it was. Torture. Because of you, he lost his job, lost the love of his life, his marriage and he damn near lost his mind."

Elizabeth said nothing as Neal and Peter went upstairs to gather his clothes - no suits and ties because Neal was right. The psychological damage Elizabeth had inflicted meant Peter could never go back to the Bureau. Damage that might never completely heal.

"If you ever come near him, ever even speak to him, I'll make sure you pay for this," Neal said. "And if I were you, I'd take that thing apart." With that, he ushered Peter out the door, hand comfortingly on his back.

Epilogue

"This is the last of it," Neal said, setting a box on the table.

"You know, I could get my own place," Peter said.

"Are you still having nightmares? Still feeling overwhelmed?" Neal asked even though he knew the answer. It wasn't often anymore that Peter woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat or Neal had to go looking for him only to find him holed up in a closet and he still had a problem if it got too dark, still avoided obstacles that weren't there in a room he was no longer in. He stood in front of his partner, deep in his space. "You can stay here as long as you want," he said. "I don't mind. June doesn't mind. I want to help and I can do that best if you're here."

"Just help?" Peter asked.

"Eventually I'd like more," Neal said. "But I know you're not ready." A little hesitantly, not wanting to spook him, he brushed a light kiss over Peter's lips. "As long as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

Peter nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know if it will ever go away...what she did."

"No, it probably won't," Neal said gently. "But as long as you need me, I'll be here to help you through it." He saw the gratitude in Peter's eyes and wasn't surprised when he pulled him close, his mouth capturing his in a soft kiss.


End file.
